I’ve been airsick, seasick, trainsick, carsick, motorcyclesick, and lots of other sicks, but I’ve never been cannonsick before, and I don’t think I ever will be.
Out in front of good Father Sather was a cannon, the kind that means business. Our towering overseer chimed, nodded, and sent me on my way. I almost hit my head on the moon before I came down to earth again.
Andrea Gibson’s “Asking Too Much” is a great poem.